In nearly every speech she heard was the same implication of great and necessary changes in the world—changes to be won by effort and sacrifice indeed, but surely to be won. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood.
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